


Glow

by hitokiri



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitokiri/pseuds/hitokiri
Summary: Billy has a place he goes to clear his head. Steve is there this time.





	Glow

**Author's Note:**

> They smoke weed, Billy shotguns Steve because Steve is really bad about taking a drag, and they make out. I don't actually know anything about how to smoke weed, but I had this idea that it would be kind of hot if Billy shotgunned the smoke into Steve's mouth from his own, and then they kiss. So. It happened. Forgive me.
> 
> I do not own Stranger Things.

It's been two months since Billy and Harrington's fight. They've done a stellar job of avoiding each other for the most part, aside from a shared class, their lockers in close proximity because of their last names, and basketball practice. Billy hasn't been so much avoiding as he's been _ignoring_ , but Harrington has definitely been avoiding any and all confrontation with anyone. Especially Billy.

It had taken a few weeks for their bruises to fade. The bruises Billy left on Harrington's otherwise pretty face lasted a little longer than the ones left on Billy's. He packed a harder punch than Harrington, and he had a certain resilience to physical violence from the years of beatings from his father. All the strength training he did definitely paid off, too.

He hated how interested he had been in watching the mess that he left on Harrington's face heal. And he also hated that he almost gave the kid pointers for self-care after getting hit so much. Billy had been so used to it at that point that he almost felt sorry for Harrington.

(He would never admit out loud that Harrington reminded him of who he was before he learned self-defense, before he figured out how to land a solid punch, before he taught himself how to take a hit without going down immediately. Harrington definitely could use some practice, and absolutely needs to learn how to plant his damn feet, but Billy wouldn't discredit him completely. A few of those punches hurt like hell.)

Besides the radio silence between himself and Harrington, all was clear at home, too. Billy was laying low, doing his school work, watching over Max, and making sure not to step on Neil's toes. It proved successful; his father hadn't bothered him in almost a month. He and Max weren't exactly talking, and they weren't exactly nice to each other, but it was some sort of truce. She almost removed his manhood that night in the freak's house, and he almost killed their _babysitter_ , or whatever Harrington had called himself, the weirdo. There was a silent agreement that Billy would stay out of Max's shit, and she wouldn't come at him with a spiked bat. He will admit he respects her a little bit for standing up against him.

He could also say the same about Harrington, who didn't fight back on the court, or in the showers that day, but fuck did he stand up to Billy to protect those kids. He thinks maybe Harrington has low self-value, but would do anything for those close to him. Billy both admires and is deeply disturbed by that concept. The only side Billy is on is his own.

Billy had found the quarry after he dropped Max off at the Snow Ball. He didn't want to go home since he'd have to pick her up anyway, so he had aimlessly driven around Hawkins, looking for anything to kill time until the dance ended. He'd found a dirt pass riddled with tire tracks and footprints, leading into a small dirt lot that could fit maybe three cars if someone was feeling generous. No other cars had been there, so Billy had parked, his front end inches from the guardrail, and got out. The lot overlooked the quarry and Billy found it oddly soothing. He'd sat on the hood for what felt like hours before he had to get back to the school to get Max.

He's been going there ever since, for all sorts of occasions, but mostly for a place to clear his head, and maybe take a drag of the joint he hides in his pack of smokes. He doesn't smoke to get high or to fuck himself up. He smokes to relax, to re-learn how to breathe again in a place so full of bullshit. He smokes when Neil gets to him, or when someone pisses him off at school. It's a feeling he can't get from alcohol. If alcohol is liquid courage, which Billy never needed anyway, then marijuana is serene smog.

He reaches for the volume knob on his stereo as he turns onto the familiar dirt path, quieting Metallica. He doesn't want to disrupt the calmness of the quarry with his loud music. He's expecting the lot to be empty, like it always is, but when he turns into the small lot, there's already a car parked there. Not wanting to look like an idiot, he pushes on, parking his Camaro regardless. No one is going to take this spot from him, or chase him away. He'll share it not because he wants to, but because he has to. Hawkins isn't his, and he has damn sure not lived here long enough to claim anything here. If there had been no other signs of life that cold December night he found this lot, then hell yeah he'd fight for it now, but he wasn't the first, and he knows he won't be the last.

It isn't until he's parked, engine off, and all is silent, does he look over at the car invading his space.

It's Steve Harrington's BMW.

Billy closes his eyes and breathes for a minute. Draws in a calming breath, exhales on a shudder. His space isn't being invaded by just anyone; it's been invaded by Harrington. Harrington who's avoided Billy for two months. Harrington who won't even shower at the same time Billy does after practice because he's become skittish or something since the fight. He's lying on the hood of his Beamer like he's not suddenly in a place that Billy has been frequenting more and more lately.

Billy gets out of the car.

"Well if it isn't King Steve," Billy says, slamming the door shut. He rolls his shoulders, adjusting his leather jacket. It's the coldest month of the year, but Billy is from California. He hates being restricted by layers of clothing; it makes him feel trapped. The most he managed was to button up his shirt an extra two buttons. The chill in the air makes him shiver, but he covers it up by reaching for his pack of smokes from his jacket pocket. Amongst the twelve cigarettes he has left, there's a lighter and a single joint, rolled perfectly this morning before he left for school.

It's Valentine's Day, and Billy never did a single thing he usually did on the most romantic day of the year. Leaving California was hard for him because everything he could have wanted was out there. Hot chicks in skimpy clothes, guys willing to suck him off when he gave them a single look, sweat-slick skin in the hot sun, tans. Everything that ever appealed to Billy Hargrove was left behind when Neil forced them out of the only home they ever knew. He figured he'd have nothing out here if not his weed. It took him three months in Hawkins to find someone on the outskirts of town willing to sell to him, but it's too risky to go often, so he spreads it out, makes it last, takes a few tokes a day, maybe, but doesn't waste it all in one go. He never liked being high, or losing his sense of self, but every drag felt good, like a sweet release.

This was his place to unwind, and Harrington was in it.

Harrington, who looks over at him cautiously as he climbs onto the hood of his own car. Billy places up two hands placatingly, one with the pack of smokes, the other with the lighter and joint. "I ain't here to fight, princess," he says, settling his back against the windshield so he can lie back and look past the trees and to the sky. He could never see this many stars out west. There were too many city lights, traffic, nothing that let him see anything beyond the pitch black sky and the moon. But here, in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, he could see some stars. He thinks he'd like to try to find constellations sometime, maybe learn about astronomy. If only for something to do in Hawkins besides die alone.

"What are you doing out here?" Harrington finally speaks, and Billy is almost startled with the words cutting through the air like that. All they had was the wind, and the sound of Billy's lighter as he played with it, contemplating whether or not he wanted to light the joint in front of Mr. Perfect over there.

Billy laughs, says, "I come here all the time. Gotta get away from my old man sometimes, you know?"

Harrington laughs too, but there's no humor in it. Billy can detect bitterness when he says, "Yeah," quietly. Billy decides that he doesn't care what the meaning behind that is, and sticks the joint in his mouth, breathes in, and lights it. The smoke hitting his throat and flowing down into his lungs is the first real thing he's felt in a long time. He closes his eyes, letting it flow through him, calm him, and he almost forgets he's not alone until Harrington speaks up again. "Are you getting _high_?"

"Sure am, pretty boy," he says without a care in the world. The rolled up paper rests between his index and middle fingers as he exhales a plume of smoke into the chilly night air. It's only after a gust of wind carries the evidence away that he opens his eyes and turns towards the boy on the car parked beside his. "Want in?"

Harrington hesitates for a moment. Billy watches as he works something over inside his head, weighing his options. _Is he serious?_ Billy imagines going through the kid's head. _Or does he want a fight?_

He sees the exact moment his mind changes from uncertain to sure, because Harrington looks determined, says, "Yeah," with the most conviction he's ever heard in the quiet boy.

Billy lets out a chuckle, says, "Come here, Harrington," and scoots over to give just enough room for Harrington to join him. He's cautious in his movements as he slides off the hood of his car and walks up to Billy's, standing alongside it like he has no idea what to do with his body. Billy makes the decision for him and grabs onto the sleeve of his jacket, muttering, "I said, come-" He gives one hard yank, sending Harrington sprawling face first onto the still warm hood. "- _here_."

Harrington falls gracelessly and looks up at Billy with a glare. "Asshole," he mutters, but with no real heat as he climbs properly onto the hood, settling himself next to Billy.

"Ever smoked a joint before?"

"Uh, no."

"Aww," Billy coos, leaning over slightly, a mocking smile on his face. "Do I get to be princess' _first_?" and Harrington shoves him, almost knocking him off the car, but they're both laughing now. It feels good to laugh with someone. It makes him feel alive; like he's home in California because he used to do this shit all the time. He always had friends to hang around and smoke with. He always had someone to laugh with until he went home to learn he did something else wrong and got another beating from Neil. But he was always grateful for the few and far between times he had with friends before he was forced out of there.

For the first time in Hawkins, he feels like he belongs. Not as newly crowned Keg King Hargrove, but as Billy. Harrington is someone who doesn't seem like he'd care that he's friends with someone cool or not, because he's so comfortable with the friends he has, like the way Billy used to be. He hates comparing himself to Harrington, but he sees a lot more of himself in the kid than he ever thought he would.

He thinks that's why he hated him so much when he first came here.

"While I'm flattered to be your first, this is some serious shit here, got it?" he says, tone no longer joking. "I don't have a lot of this, and I don't need your pansy ass wasting the little I have, so you're gonna toke and you're gonna do it right." He passes the joint to Harrington who cautiously takes it, thumb and index finger closing on the spot Billy's mouth just was. "I assume you know how to light a cigarette, right?"

"I've smoked _those_ , dick."

Billy holds his hands up again. "Alright, alright. But with a joint, you get one hit per light, so you're gonna put it in your mouth, light it, and drag, long and slow."

Billy watches almost mesmerized as Harrington closes his lips around the joint -- _it's not an indirect kiss, don't think that gay shit, Hargrove_ \-- flicks the lighter, and brings it to the end of the roll. He watches as Harrington inhales, probably too hard for a first-timer but he'll see how it goes, and tries not to admire the way the kid's Adam's apple bobs. Billy exhales a shaky breath as Harrington pulls the joint from his mouth--

\--and promptly fucking chokes.

Billy rolls his eyes, says exasperatedly, "Fuck's sake, can't even take a drag? What, are you a virgin, too?" while he haphazardly smacks him on the back. "God, you sheltered kids really have no idea how to live, do you?" He takes it from Harrington's fingers before he drops it and loses it in the quarry -- Billy might actually kill him if he lost it -- while Harrington tries to relearn how to breathe again. "I'll show you how it's done, princess."

There are tears in Harrington's eyes that Billy tries not to think are beautiful as he gives Billy his full, undivided attention.

So as not to be distracted by those big brown eyes full of wonder, Billy closes his eyes and does exactly as he told Harrington to do it. Except when he takes a drag he's successful, calm, and breathing in the smoke Harrington couldn't. He thinks about the mouth that was just dragging on the joint before Billy put it back to his lips, opens his eyes, and sighs on an exhale, his cloud more controlled and wispy. He looks over to Harrington who's staring in complete awe of him.

"Dude," Harrington whispers, but not much else comes out after that.

Billy laughs and says, "I'm not trusting you to try again, but I have a better idea."

He lights it and takes another drag, then, as he holds the smoke hostage in his lungs, turns to the boy next to him and whispers huskily, "Open your mouth."

"What?"

"I said," Billy almost growls, "Open your mouth, pretty boy." But he gives Harrington no choice after that, because he grabs him by the chin, pulls him close, and squeezes so the kid opens his mouth. On his next exhale, Billy breathes the smoke right into Harrington's mouth until there's nothing left. He pushes on the jaw in his grip until Harrington's mouth closes and he breathes in what Billy just breathed out. He doesn't cough this time, and his eyes glaze over in wonder and contentment as Billy finally releases his chin and lets him lean back again.

"Wow," Harrington whispers. Billy feels nothing but pride when the same smoke he exhaled leaves Harrington's mouth in a sigh.

He pats him on the thigh. "I took your weed virginity and I couldn't feel more accomplished."

"Can we..."

"Hm?"

"I wanna do it again."

Billy's eyes widen, but he won't deny that it's a request he will happily oblige.

They end up almost finishing the joint, which is the opposite of what he wanted because he probably only has enough for one joint left in the baggie taped under his nightstand, but it was well worth it because Harrington has moved closer to him for warmth. There's just the roach left in between Billy's fingers, and he'd like to try something new with it.

They're seven drags past him having to hold Harrington still to be shotgunned, but he needs to hold him now if he's going to do what he wants.

"Hey, Harrington," he says nonchalantly, rolling the roach between his fingers. "There's one more hit. You game?"

"Fuck yeah, man."

Billy smirks around the roach, lights it, drags, and grabs Harrington by the chin again. He pulls him close, almost so that he's in his lap, and locks their lips together. Their teeth clash and it hurts, but the high he's feeling right now, along with the warmth of the boy he forced into straddling his lap outweighs the pain. Harrington's mouth opens obligingly in a gasp as Billy breathes the smoke directly into his mouth, but doesn't let him go yet. He pushes his tongue into Harrington's mouth, tastes the excess smoke, and tangles their tongues. He practically melts against Billy's chest and lets him have his way.

What's left of the roach is flicked out somewhere into the quarry, where no one will find it, and Billy wraps strong arms around Harrington. He's got Harrington's hair tangled in his fingers as he threads them through the hair at the back of his neck, while his other hand snakes its way up the back of the stupid bright green polo Harrington wore to school that day. A shiver at either the contact or the cool air hitting his skin runs down his spine, but Billy keeps on, trailing his hand higher up the smooth skin. Against his mouth, Harrington whimpers, but doesn't move to pull away or push Billy, so Billy takes it as a win.

They break the kiss with a thin trail of saliva between them that breaks when Billy pulls back to admire the flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. He smirks up at him and touches his cheek gently for a moment before saying, "I guess I took your virginity again, pretty boy."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a nice review. ><


End file.
